Chapter 16 #2
“As long as you’re not the story,” he continues calmly, like he’s breaking down a system play. “As long as whatever happens doesn’t end up on camera—where’s the conflict?”
“There’s a conflict,” I insist, the words stacking up faster now. “Overall objectivity, power dynamics, professional ethics—”
Arch lifts a hand, cutting me off. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re avoiding the real question,” he says, voice gentler but tinged with an edge all the same. “Do you want her?”
The answer hits me square in the chest like a punch, screaming to be let loose.
Yes!
Before I can respond, Juno lifts a hand and starts our way, accepting a beer someone shoves at her as she brushes by. Her smile is small but unmistakable and just for me, and I feel it settle low in my gut.
I don’t smile back right away. I let myself take her in, the confident walk, the flush in her cheeks that might be heat, might be alcohol, might be something else entirely.
Arch clocks it instantly and his grin returns, full force this time. “Ah. Incoming.”
“Please, for the love of God, stop,” I warn.
He absolutely does not.
“Juno!” Arch says brightly as she reaches us. “Perfect timing. I was praising Crosby for that win tonight.”
She laughs. “That save was ridiculous. I’m pretty sure the entire building inhaled at the same time.”
“See?” Arch says. “She gets it.”
I shake my head. “You’re both exaggerating.”
“And you’re far too humble,” Juno points out, eyes flicking to mine mischievously. “Which makes you a little bit annoying.”
Arch beams. “I like her.”
I groan quietly, although secretly I’m pleased with the banter. It’s so fucking easy.
“So,” Juno says, glancing around the packed house, “is this normal? Win a game, invade someone’s house, drink all their beer?”
“Only when we earn it,” Arch says. “And tonight? We earned it.”
She nods. “Good to know, for future planning purposes.”
“Speaking of planning,” Arch says, turning his attention fully on her now, “if you ever need someone to explain hockey systems in a very handsome, very articulate way—”
“Stop,” I grumble.
She laughs again, clearly amused. “Is that a formal offer?”
“Absolutely,” he says, voice dropping suggestively low. “I’m excellent at diagrams.”
She tilts her head, playing along. “That’s tempting.”
Arch shoots me a sideways glance, eyes dancing. “See? I’m useful.”
“You’re unbearable,” I tell him.
“And yet,” he says, already backing away, “you’d miss me if I left.” He claps me once on the shoulder. “I’m grabbing another drink. Don’t get into trouble.”
Then he’s gone, absorbed by the crowd, leaving the air quieter.
Juno turns back to me, smile lingering. “He’s fun.”
“He’s a menace,” I say.
She studies me for a beat, expression shifting into thoughtful curiosity. “You okay?”
I meet her gaze. “I am now.”
Whoa. Okay, that was brutally honest and completely flirt-worthy. But why should Arch have the monopoly on being charming?
And the way she looks at me tells me she knows exactly what that means.
Juno steps closer, angling her body toward mine in a way that feels intentional without being obvious. The music is loud and the room crowded, but the space between us narrows.
“That last play,” she says, nodding subtly, like she doesn’t want to draw attention to us. “When Miller lost the puck at the blue line…”
I huff a quiet laugh. “We’re really doing an interview here?”
Her mouth curves. “Occupational hazard.”
I want to be irritated she’s in work mode, but I can’t. She’s asking a legitimate question about team dynamics. “You saw that.”
“Hard to miss,” she says. “Two-on-one, game on the line, entire building holding its breath.” She pauses. “What did Miller say after?”
I blink. “You saw that too?”
She shrugs lightly. “I was on the glass. I also talked to him after the game.”
That gives me pause. “You did?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Briefly. He was… rattled, but also very complimentary.” Her eyes meet mine, steady. “He was singing your praises.”
“That’s good to know, and yes, he thanked me on ice,” I say honestly. “But it’s hard to tell what’s going on in that guy’s head lately.”
Her brows knit. “Because of Cherry.”
I exhale through my nose. “Yeah. She doesn’t exactly help things.”
“She stirred up a lot at Patrick’s place,” Juno says. “And I don’t think she even realizes the ripple effect.”
“I think she realizes,” I mutter. “I don’t think she cares.”
Juno studies me for a beat, then tips her head. “Have you talked to him since?”
“Not really. Locker room stuff. On-ice stuff. Nothing… direct.”
She doesn’t push back right away and instead takes a sip of her drink, eyes drifting briefly to the room before coming back to me.
“You should,” she says gently. “Talk to him. Clear the air.”
I scoff. “You sound like a therapist.”
She smiles. “I grew up around a lot of unresolved tension. I can smell it.”
That strikes deep because she’s probably right. “What’s your advice?”
She stares at me thoughtfully for a moment.
“Miller’s a good player, but he’s human, and right now, he’s dealing with a lot.
If he’s second-guessing himself because of things off the ice, that bleeds onto it.
” She hesitates a second before adding, “This team feels balanced. Like everyone’s pulling in the same direction.
I know you don’t want anything to mess that up. ”
I look at her then—really look at her. The way she’s not observing from the outside but understanding from within. Seeing the connective tissue, not only the highlights.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
“At telling people what they don’t want to hear?”
“At seeing things,” I correct.
Her expression softens. “So are you.”
I tilt my head. “How so?”
“You read plays before they happen,” she says. “People too, whether you want to admit it or not.”
The noise of the party swells around us, but the moment holds as if we’re in a private cocoon.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say finally.
She nods once, like she knew I would. “Good.”
There’s a beat where neither of us moves. Where the air feels charged.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth before she catches herself, but I notice.
And suddenly, talking feels like the wrong choice.
Before I can even evaluate what this is going on between us, there’s a loud shriek of delight near the front door. A sound I’ve heard way too often in my past.
I glance past Juno and catch sight of Cherry, who’s hugging Axel’s wife and jumping up and down in place as if they’re so excited to be in each other’s presence.
It’s pure performance as I see her already scanning the room, clocking who has eyes on her and who still needs to have eyes on her.
I exhale through my nose and shake my head once. “I don’t have it in me to deal with her tonight.”
Juno follows my gaze, takes it in without commentary. No curiosity disguised as questions.
She reaches for my hand and I jolt.
There’s nothing tentative about it, her fingers sliding into mine with such firmness, I immediately relax.
“Come on,” she says, already turning. “Let’s explore his house.”
It doesn’t sound like an escape. It sounds like a decision I’m about to make that might change things between us.
I follow without hesitation.
We move through the kitchen, the crowd parting easily, no one paying us more than passing attention.
Someone presses fresh drinks into our hands and we accept them out of habit, then abandon them on the counter a few steps later.
The music swells behind us, laughter cresting and breaking, and we’re on the escape from it all.
Juno glances back once, checking that I’m still with her.
I am.
We pass a short hallway that opens into a quieter wing of the house, the light dimmer here. The noise dulls to a low thrum, more felt than heard. She slows enough to orient herself, then nudges open a glass door with her shoulder.
Cool air envelops us, a side deck stretching out with string lights overhead. Juno keeps ahold of my hand, soft skin that feels way too good against mine.
We end up side by side at the railing, hands breaking apart so elbows can rest on the stained wood.
I exhale slowly, fingers laced together like I need the anchor. “So much better out here.”
It comes out lighter than I feel. Truth is, the fact that Juno knows so much about my history—accurately, without judgment—still throws me.
She smiles faintly, gaze fixed on the city lights in the distance. “I’m digging the Cherry-free zone. She definitely sucks up a lot of energy.”
I turn my head toward Juno, studying her in the spill of the deck light. Her profile is beautiful… delicate features, full lips, but also strong and proud. She knows so much about me, and I’m at once aware of how little I know about her beyond the surface.
“What about your love life?” I ask.
Juno doesn’t flinch but does raise her eyebrows slightly. “That’s a change of subject.”
“Not really,” I say, leveling a pointed stare. “You know all about my past and even helped me escape from it. So spill it.”
I get a husky laugh and she capitulates. “My love life is nonexistent. Last serious relationship ended about three years ago.”
Three years. My brain catches on it, rolls it around. Long time to be single, but it’s about the same amount of time since I broke up with Cherry.
I shift my weight and lean my elbow on the railing as I turn more fully toward her. “Why’d it end?”
She takes a beat, eyes tracking something distant on the horizon. I give her the space without rushing it, resisting the urge to fill the quiet.
“He couldn’t decide anything.”
My brow furrows slightly. “Like commitment?”
“No.” She shakes her head, almost amused by the assumption. “He was committed, but couldn’t choose anything else. Plans, direction, next steps—everything came back to me. Always waiting for me to decide.”
The puzzle pieces start to align. I know that kind of man. I’ve watched teammates drown under it. I’ve seen relationships quietly rot because one person carried all the weight.
“It was exhausting,” she continues, voice steady. “And eventually, unattractive.”
That resonates. When behavior affects attractiveness.
Physical looks are a boon and it’s what catches eyes, but it’s the day-to-day actions that either breed connection or push two people apart.
I think of Cherry—how confidence had curdled into performance, how neediness had disguised itself as devotion.
There came a point where she didn’t do it for me anymore.
My mouth quirks despite myself. “So, you like alpha guys.”
It’s half a joke. Half a test. I hate that I care about the answer.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Not alpha meatheads. Men who are confident. Self-aware. Possessed.” Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “It’s nice when a man takes control every once in a while.”
The words don’t feel flirtatious so much as declarative.
And it paints a new layer to Juno. She’s obviously someone who is incredibly strong and self-sufficient, but it’s quite the admission to say she doesn’t like being in control all the time.
I’d go so far as to say she’s admitting a vulnerability.
It’s also not lost on me that based on her definition, I’d be her perfect type.
Hearing her name is a dangerous hit to my carefully stacked restraint.
I feel the air between us tighten, almost like that second before a puck drops when everyone is waiting to see how things will unfold.
“So,” I say carefully, because this matters and I don’t want to misread it, “if I were considering whether to kiss you…” Her eyes flare and her breath catches. “You’d be far more attracted to me if I just did it,” I continue, voice lower now, “rather than waffling or asking permission.”
“Yes,” she says, without hesitation. So quickly, so adamantly, it’s almost as if she’s the one demanding action.
That’s all it takes.
I close the distance—not rushed, not tentative. One hand comes up to her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek like I’m memorizing the shape of her, and then my mouth is on hers. Slow at first.
The kind of kiss that says I know exactly what I’m doing.
Controlling.
Juno responds immediately, like she’s been waiting for it. Her fingers curl into the front of my jacket and pull me closer. The kiss deepens—warmer, hungrier—until restraint starts to feel like a bad idea. I shift our stance, crowding her space enough to make a point, and she doesn’t retreat.
Instead, she leans back against the railing, and I lean in.
My hand slides from her jaw to her waist, then lower, pulling her flush against me. I feel the hitch in her breath as she feels every single hard inch of me.
Juno’s not shy. Her hands roam—confident, exploratory—like she’s as aware of what this is turning into as I am.
This isn’t about her past or mine.
This is choice.
I kiss her again, harder this time, my mouth tracing the corner of hers, down along her jaw, back to her lips. She makes a soft sound that goes straight through me, and I have to brace one hand on the railing to keep myself from falling all the way into her.
She pulls back enough to speak, breathless but composed. “How about we take this somewhere more private?”
I go absolutely still, because if I get Juno somewhere private, and we kiss like this… well, things will go all the way.
I rest my forehead against hers, forcing myself to breathe. “You sure about that?”
Please be sure. Please fucking be sure.
“I am,” she murmurs, fingers digging down into the front of my belt by an inch. Oh, the promise that’s there. “Are you?”
I answer with a game plan, lifting my head to peer down at her. “My place won’t work.”
Her brow lifts. “Why not?”
“My sister’s there,” I say, the words almost painful to admit. “And I don’t feel like explaining this to Birdie right now.”
She smiles, slow and knowing. “Then it’ll have to be mine.”
I kiss her again, sealing it, my hand tightening at her waist. “Then let’s get going.”